


The Sacrifice

by Nikoshinigami



Category: Tales of Zestiria
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-23
Updated: 2016-07-18
Packaged: 2018-06-10 03:56:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6938638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nikoshinigami/pseuds/Nikoshinigami
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mikleo waited. He'd gotten very good at waiting. He traveled, he wrote, he explored old and new places. Waiting was an art-form that seemed to come naturally to him and Sorey's promise to return kept his spirits high. When Sorey came back, when his hand caught his, everything Mikleo had ever wanted--everything he'd dreamed of--was once again extended towards him. Except, as it turned out, it wasn't. </p>
<p>Mikleo had waited in vain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"My name is Sora," he says, and I disagree. But I don't get to decide these things. These things are decided by forces much stronger than myself. So I nod, dumbly, though I cannot return his smile. Because his name is apparently Sora now--misremembered or cruelly administered as a symbol of his new self. His hair fades to red at its ends and I feel the centuries between us.

He knows nothing.

I didn't even know the beacon had fallen. 

I have been too long out of Glenwood.

Sora is everything my memories say he should be. He's kind. He's personable. He worries that I may have hit my head before he stopped my fall because I am staring at him with unfocused eyes. Perhaps I did. I almost desire the possibility wherein I have fallen and lay dying with this as nothing more than a disjointed hallucination as my thoughts scatter in my last surge of being. I always think of him, of Sorey, when I'm exploring ruins. My thoughts are never far from him, my words addressed to him as I speak aloud my observations. He's always there even when he isn't. And this is the same, though far more painful than I'd ever imagined.

Because his name is _Sora_ now. Sorey is dead. Maotelus has destroyed everything there was of his vessel and remade a fire seraphim in his image. 

"You should lie down," he says earnestly. "You don't look so good." His concern is as easily bestowed upon a stranger now as it has always been. He has the same heart which could never bear malevolence. He's goodness to his core despite all he's lost that taught him how to be.

"I'm fine," I lie, finding my voice.

He smiles. I try. It hurts. He was my closest friend.

We talk endlessly as he leads me to his home within the ruins to rest. I'm in shock but I can't ignore the voice that once whispered to me from across the pillow. He loves ruins. He loves exploring the lost temples and trials he finds in the last vestiges of countryside. He loves the Celestial Record and can quote endlessly from the tome as though he's memorized every passage inside. Again. He loves the books I wrote even more. We discuss them all and it feels like old times. He asks my name and I remember he's not the same. 

"Rulay," I say, not wishing to confess to being both author and character in the stories we've discussed on our walk.

I don't tell him I knew him once. I don't tell him he's mistaken his name or that the books he loves about Shepherd Sorey are about him too from his previous life--his human existence. It would be selfish. I don't want to make him think he's anything less than what he is now. He's happy. He's unburdened. When he talks about the books and ruins his green eyes sparkle with delight and his face lights up like a star in the night sky. He deserves this peace even if it comes from letting go of what was and being only a spirit of the present. He deserves this and so much more. He's lost nothing in this way, his sacrifice given and his service repaid. So few people still exist who would even care that Sorey as he was is never coming back. Just me, really. Because he was my everything. I'm so proud of him, though. So in the end, it will be okay.

His camp is sparse. There's a bag of books and burnt logs from an old fire but little else to call this home. 

"I've never met anyone else who likes the same things I do," he tells me as I'm lead to sit on a piece of rubble beside the ashes and dead embers. "Most people I've met are bored by archeology and history. I guess if I was ever going to meet someone else who shared my interests, though, it would be in a ruin like this."

"Ruins are full of the spirits of people who took interest in them," I say.

He laughs and it sounds like the melody to the song I sing in my heart. "Guess this is the first time I was fast enough to save one of them," he jokes.

I don't feel saved but I know this will pass. 

"Have you traveled much in Glenwood?"

"I have," I let him know.

"Then have you seen Camlann and Ladylake and all the places written about in the books?"

I nod and he's nothing less than a spark of energy bursting with questions. His spirit was always a bright flame of unrivaled intensity: excitable, adventurous, passionate and bold. The fire element suits him well. He wants to know about the castles and their underground secrets. He is curious about the crucibles and Pendrago's shrinechurch. He doesn't know he's already read the entirety of my accounts but he seems content with the brevity of my spoken replies.

"And have you ever met the Prime Lord and Sub Lords who served Shepherd Sorey?" he asks.

So far, I have not lied to him. Not entirely. And I cannot fathom the will it would take to do so even now. "I have," I say, knowing the questions that will follow. "It's been a while since I last saw them but they were all well when I last left Glenwood."

"Even Mikleo?"

My name spoken by his voice runs a shiver through my being. "Yes," I reply, though my own voice seems gone. I don't manage to say anything more.

I don't need to. He's driven to excitement in envy. "That must have been amazing! Meeting the seraphim who visited all those places and wrote all those books! He's my all time hero!" he exclaims and I feel warm and sick at the same time. "I read all the books about his adventures before I ever found the ones about Shepherd Sorey. I just... I couldn't believe he lived through all that and didn't become a dragon, you know? First learning about his human life, then watching his mother die without ever telling her who he was, then having to kill Zenrus and then Shepherd Sorey sacrificing himself too in the end... I mean, when it was all said and done, he lost _everything_ in the span of a few hours. And he did it with so much grace, you know? Just... he honored the ones he loved and who loved him so fully. I don't know if I could be that person. I mean, everyone who died for a good cause did a noble thing but... but they didn't have to live with it. It was over. I mean, I had to go back and reread all the other books Mikleo had written just to fully appreciate it. They fought an enemy that was made cruel by loneliness and in the end they created the loneliest hero. I'd give anything to meet him but I don't know what I'd say. Probably just end up saying a lot of nonsense. But he's just.. amazing, you know? I can't imagine what it must be like meeting someone like him."

I want to scream and I want to cry, but I do neither. I'm not a little boy anymore. I don't have to be true to my heart.

I worry about my prose, though. I wrote about my adventures with Sorey so long ago. Perhaps I wasn't as objective in my writing as I thought.

"He's... normal," I say, not wanting to diminish his hero even if I disagree with his praise. I'm nothing special. I was just a baby back then by most accounts--eighteen years old in a lifespan that spans centuries. I was brash and stubborn and headstrong and proud. Sorey was the good one. I was just a whining toddler along for the ride.

Sora doesn't seem off put by my limited comment in the least. He's all but laughing, his good cheer overflowing. "I guess even amazing people can seem pretty ordinary once you get to know them," he says with insight I wouldn't have believed him to possess. _He's_ the extraordinary one, I think. And in all likelihood, he'll never know it.

We don't eat, and for the first time in centuries it feels weird to me not to. He's no longer human, though, and so neither of us need to hold to any pretenses. I grew up eating but learned not to after less than a decade. I can almost feel hunger, though, as I watch him tend to a new fire. I learned a lot of things by growing up with Sorey--things that didn't even make sense to my biology. I was once an echo for sensations he alone could feel. Now, between the two of us, I'm the only one who feels the phantom pangs. I'm the one who thinks of this as a home even though it's just a campsite in a temple with a fire solely to grant us light.

I don't know what to do. He stares at me and turns away, bashful, embarrassed at being caught as he starts up again to fill the silence. He wants to check my head for injury and I allow it in fear of the quiet where nothing is said and nothing happens. I take down my hair and try not to look at him as I do. I feel his hands glide over the thick waves at my shoulders--far below my crown where his concern had been placed. I wonder briefly if he knows how much it's grown, if inside there is some innate sense of what I should look like which I no longer conform to. I'm older. I'm taller. He's neither. He's not even Sorey.

He parts my hair to inspect my scalp, pressing against the thick tresses which feel heavy down my neck. It hides my face, though, and places him at my back. He can't see me close my eyes and grit my teeth. It's my first moment outside his observation and I know instantly that I'm not strong enough for this yet. Maybe someday but not right now. I can accept that this will all be fine and in time I will be able to let go of my hopes and dreams concerning Sorey. For now the pain is just too much, though. He's so tender when he touches me and I know he doesn't remember how ticklish I am behind my ears. Sorey would never miss a chance to sneak a tickle in if I left myself unguarded. Sora's touch is light and gentle. He doesn't know me or us or even himself. 

"Does it hurt?" he asks as my breath comes out as a shudder. 

I tell him it doesn't, and its not a lie because he means my head. My head is fine. My head understands everything I'm learning about this seraph. It's my heart that's causing me duress.

He puts his hands on my shoulders and I have to stop myself from leaning into him. I wish he felt less familiar. I wish he had truly become someone different from my Sorey in more ways that just the absence of his memory.

I take his hand and turn towards him. He moves his free hand to press my hair back from my face. We kiss because I lure him closer; because I'm brash and stubborn and headstrong and proud. Because I'm never going to have my Sorey back. Because if I do nothing, he'll ask me why I look so sad. Instead he asks me "what was that for?" when his lips are far enough away for a whisper.

"For saving me," I reply, though I still don't feel in the least bit saved.

And because he's excitable and adventurous and passionate and bold, we spend the rest of the firelight with no space between us. The temple echoes with our heated breaths. My clothes pad the floor below us; his fall in indiscriminate patterns along the fallen columns all around. I outrun all disappointment in my actions with mind-numbing euphoria. I'll hate myself for this later but still cherish it like a sweet memory; I know myself well enough to know when I'm in the middle of a big mistake I can't avoid-- _won't_ avoid. Most of my life is made of warning signs I didn't care to obey. I don't care to be a voice of reason now. 

Neither does he. 

That doesn't mean it ends without regret.

"I didn't... I don't normally--I mean I've never... this wasn't my intention," he stammers, and I know his mind like I know my own heart even knowing he doesn't know me.

I stroke his face and smile. It's easier to do now. I've made a permanent mark in his blank slate. It's a start. And I'm selfish. I can't help but delight in that conquest somehow.

We sleep and we wake. We dress and he apologizes profusely. I love it. I love how careful he becomes in the morning. Everything is a worry that I think poorly of him regardless of how many times I remind him who started it. We don't talk about Shepherd Sorey or Mikleo. He only wants to speak to me about me with nothing more asked about the books we share so much knowledge of. We explore the rest of the water ruin together. We argue over dates and cultural significance. We clean up the campsite to leave no evidence we were ever there.

We leave together. Nothing is said; it's simply assumed. We travel towards the next town in hopes of learning of some other location to explore. He calls me Rulay and I remember to call him Sora. And it hurts. It hurts like dying each new day. But he's still just as excitable and adventurous and passionate and bold as the man I once knew. And if this pain is the price to pay for the wonder that is being at his side again, then that is a sacrifice I will gladly make.

Because I've never been very good. That was him. Always him.

But I know, given time, this will all be okay.

I'm very good at passing the time.


	2. Chapter 2

He wants to go to Glenwood.

There is nothing I can ever say to change his mind.

In the months since he grabbed my falling hand, I've learned many things about him. He woke up on this continent alone over a year ago and took refuge in a university library for most of that time. Resonance is lower here but the scholars still appreciated his presence and often gave him offerings. The books were his to keep when he left. He's just as naive as I remember but just as clever as well. He knows the world's history better than I do--which is not all that surprising since I lived through quite a spread of it outside the flow of progress. He's at ease with motored carriages and even suggests transport on a flying ships. I convince him of the virtues of travel by boat. He thinks I'm old fashioned. He's right. In the end, we head towards the sea.

I often wonder what Maotelus was thinking when he set him here. The romantic in me likes to imagine he is here because this is where I was; that one of the last thoughts my Sorey had was about me and in his grace Maotelus endeavored to make sure we were reunited. The more intellectual part of me thinks it was more a matter of wisdom in putting Sora in a place where no seraphim was likely to know him and even history would only vaguely include mention of Shepherd Sorey as an important figure in another culture's background. I am either the recipient of a great honor or the antithesis of a divine plan. Either way, I'm resolved to tell him nothing. Sorey is dead and gone forever. And in a way, so is Mikleo.

It helps to bury them both even if there are no bodies for those graves.

I've been a long time removed from Glenwood.

Humans use stamped booklets and require identification to prove who they are, where they're from and their permission to go where they're going. Those who can see Sora and myself wave us through, our intentions unquestioned based on our very nature. They're surprised by us, though. Seraphim have no real home but we have territory we like to keep to. I've been considered an oddity in my travels. Without Sorey or Gramps, Elysia wasn't home anymore and my territory became the unknown. I went everywhere. I wrote it all down. I never stood still long enough to question the passage of time. Old things are always old, after all. It's only the new which becomes out of date. Sora is very young and follows his heart and my lead--a terrible combination sure to end in mischief or death. And I... well, we like being the noteworthy seraphim who travel to different continents without a human vessel. We like challenging the stereotypes and observing those who observe us while we're stuck on a boring, floating vessel.

We sleep under starlight. We kiss and caress under the gaze of the moon because it never stopped after that first night. It's never spoken of and it has no name but what we are includes this now and it helps. It helps because it's different. It wasn't like this with Sorey. It could have been but we always thought there was so much time ahead of us before things like this would matter. And then there wasn't. And then he wasn't. And now neither am I.

I'm a nomad with a young traveling companion. And I think I can do this for many more years to come. I think I can continue with this half-truth of an existence in the same way I did with that previous sense of endless waiting that once encompassed my every day. I can but that might not be enough. Because he's curious. Because it's Glenwood. Because no matter how much time has passed, there will be those who remember Sorey and, more than that, those who remember me.

He's going to find out someday. I can't keep him from it forever but that doesn't mean I have to rush him towards Lady Lake where memories have seraphim form and only a handful have the tact to think first.

For that reason, we visit temples and ruins from our once shared past and stay as far away from cities as we can. It's not easy. So much land is covered in houses and markets with many landmarks I once knew replaced by historic markers erected in the memory of things destroyed by time and nature. I see Sora's disappointment when the places he's read about turn out to be wreckage long corded off for the safety of others. I remember the joy Sorey had when we first stepped through now ruble-blocked passageways covered in graffiti and I think, perhaps, I could become a dragon. I'm angry with time. I'm often angry. Sora's excitement and happiness are the only things that make me let go of a past I can't recapture and see the value of what remains. We 'tag' such ruins with our names like so many others before us. We leave our mark on the past in much the same way as the past has marked us both.

"We should take the road through Camlann," Sora says as we plot our further adventures.

I don't know what to say.

He smiles and his face is nothing less than the brightest star in the sky. "Maybe we'll be able to find out what happened to Shepherd Sorey. That mystery isn't as old as most of the places we've tried to go. And I bet the Shepherds and Seraphim worked to keep things in order knowing that the place was so special."

They did. I know for a fact they did. I never returned; I knew how hard it would be to leave again if I ever wandered back, but I was told in a manner meant to assuage my concern that the place were Sorey slept was well guarded even against the encroachment of age and progress.

"Have you ever been to Camlann, Rulay?" he asks me.

I consider my answer then slowly nod. "Just once for a limited engagement a very long time ago," I admit, not wishing to fabricate specifics.

His expression is of a rare excitement. "Then it will be an adventure for both of us," he exclaims. So little of the world is as unexplored by me as it is by him.

I can't say no. I can't explain without giving it all away what the name Camlann means to me. There is almost nothing about Camlann that isn't tied to my very existence. My life was made, taken, and re-purposed there. My heart was laid to rest there. Everything I was and am was decided there. I never want to go back. It is hallowed as far as I'm concerned.

The bus takes us there anyway. Because I can't say no. He thinks my hands tremble because I don't like the way the motor sounds or the smell of its exhaust and he holds them in his own. He is and always has been kindness personified. It strikes me as very cruel for me to not prepare him--not warn him in any way of what he might learn. But I don't want to lose this to a possibility. Sora might travel through Camlann leaning nothing but the fate of a Shepherd he's read about without any parallels drawn. I might still get to be Ruley by the time we pass through into Hyland.

He's going to find out someday, though. And when that happens... I don't know what comes next. But it won't be this just as this is not like what I once had before.

I hold on tight to his hand and he kisses my temple, telling me it will all be alright. It's the sort of pointless platitude I should be admonishing him for. But I don't. Because it's him. And at this point in my life, there is nothing I want more than for something so hopeful to be true.


	3. Chapter 3

Zaveid is the one who ruins everything. That is, quite honestly, not that great a surprise. 

"Mikleo!" he shouts, and I try to ignore.

Sora is so _excited_ though. He thinks one of his heroes is near and starts scanning the crowd, looking for someone who could be the Mikleo he's read about. He stops to look and it's all Zaveid needs to get closer to us, his wide smile still as sly as I remember with age hardly registering at all in his face or gait.

"Well, well well! If it isn't my favorite pair of nerds!" Zaveid exclaims and it takes everything in me to keep from slamming my palm against his lips to shut him up. He shouldn't be here. I don't know exactly where the wind seraph should be but it's not here in Camlann, and certainly not standing now in front of me.

I glare at him but the subtlety is lost on him. He hugs Sora and pats his back; tells him he's missed him and how great it is to see him again. Tells him he's surprised by the element--would have thought wind would be more his style--and wonders if either of us have seen Lailah yet.

Sora is confused. Sora looks at me and is even more confused because I am not. I am angry and doing my best not to draw any more attention our way than Zaveid has brought us. Resonance is high here and even the humans stare and whisper. 

I hiss, pulling him off Sora. "You're mistaken. We're not who you think we are," I try.

Sora sees through it though. At least a little. Because this overly familiar seraph who called out to the renowned explorer Mikleo did nothing short of approach and acknowledge me who fits that role down to the last detail. 

"Mikleo?" Sora asks of me, looking almost hurt in his confusion.

Zaveid doesn't understand. I don't want to explain. 

I have to explain.

I'd rather die.

I buy time instead. "... Zaveid, this is Sora. He's been traveling with me for several months now. You have a very big mouth which I'd be obliged to you for shutting. It's Rulay now. I've left Mikleo behind along with the rest of the past."

Zaveid doesn't understand and Sora's eyes grow wide. It renders them both silent at least. I glare at Zaveid and for once he seems to understand. We'll talk later. He'll follow my lead. He wants to know what is going on and Sora's pinched brows are silently begging me for an explanation as well. I feel like I might be sick knowing I caused him to look at me like that. My Sora. My Sorey. I look away, hiding his face behind my hair.

"It's been a long day," I add to the silence. "Let's find a place to rest. We can talk later. Okay?"

They agree and I don't know how to even begin planning for how to get them each alone to tell each separate story. 

Sora introduces himself to Zaveid. Zaveid shakes his hand and plays along. 

Sometimes I think I could become a dragon. Sometimes it doesn't sound that bad after all. People leave you alone. Life never changes. And in the end you die, becoming a tale for other heroes to tell. I should have been a dragon keeping everyone out of Camlann until the city, its beacon and myself were just myths to be forgotten about. What a missed opportunity. Dragons, at least, don't have to worry about damage control.

It's a sad state of affairs when becoming a monster is preferable to causing someone pain on a much smaller scale. But it's Sora. It may as well be the whole world. I can't look at him when he looks at me like that and every step he takes, walking in my shadow, makes me cringe knowing he stands there out of fear and guilt concerning my reasons for the deception. Zaveid walks by my side, chatting pointlessly about things no one can possibly care about. Sora plays along though. He's too nice to not reciprocate an attempt at conversation. They talk like old friends who've only parted for an afternoon. I can't. I'm terrible at disguising my emotions. I feel lucky they mutually leave me alone.

It doesn't last. It can't last. Time only feels as though it's standing still.

"Are you really Mikleo?" he asks when the moon is high and the fire bright but I still have not found the words to say when both of them sit before me in the same space.

Zaveid looks at me, waiting for me to set the scene, but I...

"And why... why did he call me Sorey?"

... I never prepared for this, even though the outcome seemed so certain.

"I hate Camlann," I whisper darkly. Because I'm angry. I'm often angry. But not at him and I need that to be known. "Zaveid was mistaken. You're not Sorey. Sorey is dead," I quietly explain. Zaveid frowns but seems to have already understood after our walk outside of town. There's not much more I need to explain to him. But to Sora... there is so much more.

"You _were_ Sorey. A long time ago, you were our friend. But that doesn't have to mean anything. You don't have to live up to that life. You're your own person and no one has any right to make you be anyone other than yourself. You deserve to live your life without the baggage of a life you've forgotten. So don't... don't think Sora is in any way less than Sorey. You're your own person. It's okay to just be you."

He doesn't seem surprised. He just looks hurt. It's like my entire being is drying out; I don't want him to look at me like that. I don't want him to feel that way. I'd do anything to make that expression go away but I'm the one who put it there.

He reaches a hand towards me and I turn away, eyes closed. He proceeds anyway, his hand touching my cheek gently as he steers my face towards him. "Mikleo isn't baggage," he says.

I didn't mean it that way. I don't know how to respond, though. Part of me thinks he understood me regardless. He's just being kind. He's always being kind. This is just his way of showing me forgiveness.

"I understand why you didn't want me to know who I was, but... why did you lie about who you are?"

I feel like I could cry. "I knew everything about who you used to be. And you knew everything about who I was. I just... wanted a new beginning for both of us. For us, that's how it's always been."

Zaveid coughs and excuses himself. He's not anywhere near as stupid as he acts and he knows when to make himself scarce. 

Sora's hand strokes my face as he offers a small, tight smile. "Would it be okay if I still call you Rulay, then?"

I nod, knowing I most certainly will cry, as I lean forward into him and hold on with all my might.


	4. Chapter 4

I have malevolence. My shame only makes it worse.

I've been too long without a vessel. Sora believes I kept Sorey as mine for centuries as he slept, connected to they very continent through Maotelus and able to keep me safe through all my travels. Between my leaving Glennwood and Sora being given life, I've lost my tether to keep me pure. Water is the most easily tainted of the elements after all. It's time for me to settle down. It's time to remember and accept what I am.

Seraphs don't explore ruins unless they take one as their home. Seraphs don't travel alone--and certainly not great distances without some manner of precaution. I was born a human and, though I have no memories of that time, perhaps part of me holds to the same wanderlust that Sorey had. I never sought to settle down and bestow a blessing to a place I could call home. I never sought praise from humans. My dream was coexistence by desire, not necessity. But I'm a seraph. Even in the ancient times, the relationship between my kind and the rest of the world was symbiosis. So much power contained in something so vulnerable; so much to be grateful to and yet afraid of. In a way, it's no wonder we're revered. But I'm full of jealousy.

Jealousy and anger and sadness and despair. The wisps of purple that encircle me from time to time repulse everyone with resonance and I'm no less appalled. But I am resolute. And I know what I must do.

I must find a place to settle down. I must find a vessel and become venerated. Many universities in the past have asked that I bestow on them my blessing. It won't be terrible, I tell myself. I'll adapt to being sedentary, I lie. I've seen everything there was and that no longer is, after all. The world no longer offers me the hope of renewed interests. I have nothing anymore except the tired duty of prolonging this existence.

I hate the way Sora looks at me when he thinks I cannot see him. I don't need to ask him why his eyes water or why his face becomes pinched and sad in every reflection I steal a glance from. He thinks this is his fault. It's not. He thinks I resent him. I don't. I hate Maotelus more every day but I have nothing but love for Sora or Sorey. I hate Shepherd Michael. I hate Heldalf. I hate that, in a world without them, I would have grown up human beside Sorey. We would have had much the same life together only this time we would have been able to fully understand each other. I hate that my thoughts are so often plagued by darker things that I thought I'd long since moved past. There's something about Camlann that brings out my worst. I hate it. I hate everything about it. Even now, in Ladylake, I cannot separate myself from that place and those memories. And the swirling miasma grows.

"Find a Shepherd," Zaveid instructs. I'm not stupid. I know what I need to do.

"I won't be surprised if one finds us first," Sora says, his voice full of concern and no longer care free. "Ladylake is supposed to be Shepherd headquarters. This is probably the best place to deal with this sort of thing."

I don't want to see a Shepherd. I don't want to see those vestments anywhere near me ever again. "I'm not a hellion," I bark, both my companions jumping slightly at the bite of my tongue. Those with resonance do the same, giving me a wide berth as we walk through the streets with amethyst at my feet.

Zaveid puts his hands up but shakes his head, looking side to side over the crowd. "Look, if anyone could pull himself back from this sort of thing, I fully believe you'd be one of them. But we're not exactly in the middle of nowhere here. You go full on hellion and people will get hurt. So just chill out and stop taking everything so personally."

Chill out? His sense of humor is as bad as Lailah's. Who could possibly 'chill out' in a city like this anyway? So many tall buildings--all of them squares or rectangles with little in variation of architectural interest. Walls of windows reflect the sun in all directions while cars and buses roar down wide streets. I almost always avoid cities when I can. They only serve to remind me how much time has truly passed. I don't like the music that comes from invisible minstrels and the smell in the air is tainted with a sourness that stings my sinuses and throat. It's loud. Cities were always loud but it was loud because of people, a constant white-noise of conversations ringing out in the background. This was just noise. Honks and beeps and buzzing all over. Progress. And for this, they paved over the beautiful monuments of history. For their paved squares where they stable their self-propelled carriages, they buried away a past that belongs to everyone but was destroyed just for their convenience.

I'm old fashioned, Sora likes to say. He has no idea.

It takes no time at all for a Shepherd to find us--to find _me_. He isn't one of Lailah's. I don't recognize any of his seraphim. He armitizes and I feel warm as his hand rests on my shoulder. I recoil but only for a moment. And in that moment, I feel as though I might cry. This will make me feel better, I think. This will make the feelings and thoughts go away. It's not at all what I expect, though. It's not a miracle cure. He lifts his hand and I'm still just me. It's easier not to hate and the world doesn't feel like it's slowly folding in over me but... but the seed is still there just waiting to take root again. Because it's not outside sources that are pulling me towards malevolence. I can't be so easily rid of something I've created inside me.

"You should be alright now," the Shepherd says. His seraphim don't look as certain.

Sora thanks him profusely while Zaveid pulls for my attention. I allow him to pull me quietly aside.

"You go to the inn. I'll show the kid around," he says.

I bristle at the idea of being left behind. "You heard him," I insist. "I'm fine now. No one said anything about me needing to sit anything out."

"Have you had any time to yourself since you found him?" Zaveid asks. "Have you taken any time at all yet to mourn?"

I open my mouth to argue with him but close it quickly, clinging to anger to plow through the sadness. "I..." I clench my fists and look away. Of course I haven't mourned him. Sora might see and it might make him worry. And now that he knew about who he once was, such sadness could be seen as his fault for not being Sorey anymore. Of course I haven't mourned him. If I start, I might never stop. "There hasn't been time," I lie, because he doesn't deserve to hear how deep this pain now goes. It is centuries in the making.

He turns me by my shoulders, pointing me towards the inn that I wouldn't have otherwise recognized. "Sora's going to want to do a lot of sight seeing. Probably going to be out till nightfall. So get us a room and do what you need to do while we're out teasing all the lovely ladies we can find."

I scowl but, as was always the dynamic, my opinion is disregarded. He asks the Shepard for a favor: to make sure I get a room just in case the receptionist has no resonance. Sora looks relieved to hear I'm going to rest. His smile is more peaceful now and less pinched. He believes everything is going to be okay now. He's still so innocent and pure.

The Shepherd has words of warning for me before he leaves me with my room but it's nothing I don't already know. Find a vessel. Settle down. Let the prayers of the people keep me cleansed. My malevolence runs too deep to be purged by purification flames alone. I am on a dark path. That I'm not scared makes the seraphim wince.

Perhaps I've simply spent too long romanticizing becoming a hellion. I've fought them. They're very real things to me. Real things aren't as scary, I suppose, as they once were when they were unknown.

The inn room is shiny. The bed is stiff. The colors and plants are all reminiscent of the lakeside though the view from the window is of more windows across the street. The windows don't open and there's a box that wants me to tell it what the temperature should be. I feel alien--even more so than I did the first time Sorey and I left our home to explore the world and the humans in it.

I sit on the bed, running my hand over the course blanket, and catch a glimpse at myself in the mirror.

Just me.

Alone.

Like I have been for centuries.

I rest my head on my knees as I hug my legs in close. And I wait. And it occurs to me that, perhaps, I don't know how to stop waiting.


	5. Chapter 5

Sora has many stories to tell when he comes back with Zaveid. I don't hear most of them though. All I can hear, ringing through my head, are the words he first spoke when they came into the room.

"Rulay, guess what! I have flames of purification!"

And, to be honest, it only makes too much sense. Very few seraphs are give the power but Sora is a seraph refashioned by Maotelus himself from the human remains of the most pure and innocent person I had ever met. Of course he'd have the power to cleanse the world--he'd spent centuries sleeping in order to do just that. It made sense as a parting gift to allow him to retain his ability to help the world. But there are oaths to take traditionally. There is a price to pay for the power given. My darker thoughts can't help but envision the trade Sorey might have made. Memories for the power of salvation; our past in order to continue to work towards a better future. Even if there was no trade and the powers were given freely, my heart aches to know, without a shadow of doubt, that Sorey would have gladly chosen for things to be this way. Because he's selfless. Because he cares about more than just himself. Because thousands of years later, what good are those memories anyway? Because love for me is too selfish a thing to linger on for long.

He talks about Lailah and the shrine and how she would like very much to see me. He all but bounces as he talks about the canals and the old stone work of the parliament buildings that had once been a palace. I nod, never wanting to be rude to him, but I've tuned him out completely. It's very much like the moment when Sorey and I realized speaking to Lailah was part of the sword trial and why so many failed. I knew then that Sorey might be destined to become the Shepherd, and within minutes he had taken up the title. Now I can see him as a Prime Lord just as easily. He will want that road. He will naturally seek it out. And I will have lost him again to the Shepherd’s Path. It's all but assured from here.

Zaveid doesn't stay and I can't say I'm disappointed. We just happened to run into him, after all. He has things to do and Sora and I make for less than optimal company when the moon is high and the city lights are on in colors of bright yellows, reds, and blues. The people on the street below wear about as much clothing as he does. They dance on the sidewalks and disappear down alley ways. Even at night, the city is loud and yet I don't remember the last time I heard bird song or the chirp of night bugs.

"Are you coming to bed?" Sora asks with his arms folding around me.

I lean into him, remembering the days when his head easily cleared my shoulders, and allow myself to slowly relax. "In a minute," I say, though I've no intention of sleeping.

He sighs, rocking gently on his feet, our reflection in the window somewhat funny in how much and little has changed. His hair sticks up above my shoulders but I feel his face pressed against my back. He can't see me and, for the most part, I can't see him either. He used to be the tall one. He was broad and dwarfed me easily in his arms. When I see only him, I forget how much I've changed. I still think of myself as a lithe young seraph still waiting for his last growth spurt. It's my reflection that confuses me the most. I've out grown him in so many ways.

"I was so worried about you," he quietly confesses, his arms drawing tighter. "Is there anything I can do? Anything that I've done? I just want... I want to make sure you're alright."

He's sweet. He's always been sweet. He never could let anyone toil alone. "It's fine," I lie, holding his hand against my chest. "I've just spent too much time away from home. Or, rather, without one."

"What happens now?"

I smile softly. Surely he knows. And I think, perhaps, he knows I do as well. "Now?" I repeat, trying to find gentle words. "I suppose I make my way to Elysia. I hear most of Aroundight Forest is considered a nature preserve. It should be much the way I remember it. And you... well, you will stay here and become a coveted Prime Lord."

His chest presses against me with his long, deep breath. "You can't stay? Even if we found you a proper vessel?"

I shake my head. I don't want to be here. I don't want to watch as my past becomes his present. "You're exited, aren't you? To become a Prime Lord? To find a Shepherd and take the path that will lead you on adventure?"

He nods, his cheek nuzzling against me. "I think... it's what I've always wanted. Since I became myself."

I close my eyes, taking in the feel of him, knowing it will all go away once more. "You'll love it," I promise him. "The trial shrines are amazing. Especially Lefay Shrine, but I might be biased."

"Do they still go on those kinds of pilgrimages even without a Lord of Calamity?"

I don't know. There are so many Shepherds and Squires now. Are they mostly like the one we saw, just wandering the streets on the lookout for malevolence? Surely there are still those that take the trials in hopes of attaining power and a reason to struggle against evil for more than just a little maintenance now and then. Is the world so peaceful now that the Shepherd is more symbol than hero?

I suppose it is. I'm long traveled and haven't heard of much outside the occasional beast requiring a Shepherd to quell. Increased resonance means most people can see when malevolence is growing. They see to their communities and to each other. It's a nice world outside the political tiffs that mar history now and then. Peaceful. Kind. A world that is very much like the one from Sorey's dream. He would have liked it here, I'm sure.

"Even if my Shepherd doesn't go out to do great things, the work we do will still matter. I don't mind not having a grand adventure. But I... I do wish you would stay."

I can't. I could never stay in a city. My contempt only grows the more I see what has become of the land I knew. I don't belong here. In fact, I don't belong anywhere. I don't want to go to Elysia but I know of no other place to call home. I don't know any lives other than the ones I've lived. None of them were quiet. None of them required me to stay still and let the world pass me by as they do in Elysia. I don't want this life any more than he wants me to leave him. I have few options if I want to keep myself from malevolence, though. Which sparks an interesting questions: do I really?

Do I want to live for centuries more? No. Am I afraid of what I could become? No. Would I do anything to make sure that Sora got to have the life of exploration and adventure he dreams about? Yes. Anything. Because nothing in this world matters more than him.

There's a strange sort of peace in deciding to let go. I can't help but smile as it uplifts me.

I will find a vessel and I will corrupt it. I will lend my power and we will rile against the waves of weak Shepherds who have done nothing to bring honor to the name. I will become a terror unimaginable and leave chaos in my wake. I will create new ruins of the glass towers they've built and remind the world what the legends meant when they spoke of the heroic Shepherd. And only one sword will I ever allow to pierce my heart in the end: the one of his choosing and of his tempered craft; the one he holds through another's hand.

I will create such turmoil the world will remember what it has forgotten.

"Come on," Sora whispers, kissing my shoulder blades. "Let's lay down. It's getting late."

I nod my head slowly, holding on to his hand as we unravel.

For him I would do anything--even that which would make him cry.

I will become an angel of death and this will become my blessing.


End file.
